


Maybe, Baby

by mrstater



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small change in routine could mean big changes ahead for the Schraders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe, Baby

The pill pack's on the bathroom counter, next to the sink, between the toothbrush holder and  cup, where Marie won't forget to take one each night before bed. Purple, all of it, including the pill case, and as Hank leans over to spit out his toothpaste it catches his eye and reminds him of the first time she slept over _._

"Jesus," he'd said as Marie unpacked her little purple overnight bag, meticulously arranging all her girly shit in his less than meticulous bathroom, "even your birth control's purple. Did you ask your lady doctor for that?"

She'd just looked at him, incredulous. "Purple birth control? Do you think I'm _that_ obsessive, Hank?"

He'd wisely pled the fifth, she'd told him it just came that way, he chuckled and made a lame joke about how it must have just been meant to be or something--he didn't remember, exactly. Up till now, that hadn't been the most memorable part of that night. What happened after Marie took her pill and brushed her teeth, in the shower, was.

They're a few years removed from those goofy kids now, but Hank still feels that giddy rush that makes him crack dumb jokes when Marie pads into the bathroom in bathrobe and slippers, pushes back the shower curtain with a scrape of rings against the rod, starts the water running, then gives him a come hither look as she lets the purple terry cloth slide off one shoulder, then the other.

"Hot damn," he says through a mouthful of toothpaste, then spits again, almost on her arm as she reaches across the sink for her toothbrush.

"Seriously, Hank?" Marie a face of disgust, but it's not exactly a turn-off as she proceeds to grasp the toothpaste tube and squeeze it onto her toothbrush _naked_. Not even when he hears her mutter, "Neanderthal," as she shoves it into her mouth.

Still, he's not _so_ distracted that he misses the slight change in routine--he wouldn't have gotten this far in his career if he didn't have an eye for detail.

"Uh, Marie?"

She shoots him another irritated look, accompanied by a sigh--he's probably made her lose track of the toothbrush strokes--she counts them--but that's not the only thing she's lost track of.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Honestly," she says, pulling the toothbrush from mouth, "you're as bad as a dental hygienist. What did I forget?"

He jerks his head toward the counter. "Purple pills."

"Oh. I thought I wouldn't take one tonight."

For a second, the only sound is the steady swish of the toothbrush, and the drumming of the shower. Then Hank says, "Are you saying you're not in the mood anymore?"

Marie smiles slightly around the toothbrush. "No, I'm definitely still in the mood."

"But…you gotta take 'em every day, right? One missed pill…could be a baby?"

"Yep." Marie spits, rinses her mouth, then dabs it daintily with the hand towel.

"Sweet baby Jesus." The weight of her meaning comes crashing down on him, and Hank finds himself almost collapsing beneath it onto the purple plush toilet seat cover.

"I don't know about Jesus," says Marie, "but sweet baby's the idea."

"Mother f--"

"Mother, yes, I want to be one."

As he splutters she bends to pick her robe off the floor, pulling it on again. She moves in the cramped bathroom to stand in front of the toilet and takes his hand, clutching it hard; the first time he met her, she'd shoplifted with that hand.

"Hank, I know we said we didn't want kids--"

"Damn straight--"

"--but we were just kids ourselves then. People change--"

Hank shakes his head. "It's Sky and Walt that brought this on. You held Junior and now you've got that…baby lust." What a weird term.

"Oh please," Marie says, rolling her eyes. "I practically had to pry Junior out of your hands to have a turn at holding him. Tell me when you were baby talking to him there wasn't some tiny part of you that thought about how it would be to try and get your own newborn to say _Agent_?"

"That's ridiculous, my own kid wouldn't call me Agent."

"Your own nephew won't either!"

She was right, though--about more than just that. Hank _had_ held Walter Jr. and thought that with that head full of dark hair and dark eyes he looked more like Aunt Marie than like Skyler. How strong are those Lambert genes? Will a Schrader kid…baby…tyke…tot…be as beautiful as she is?

 _Will_. Future tense. Or…is that right? Grammar was never his best subject. In any case, he's not thinking in hypotheticals, which tells him he's made up his mind, as impulsively as Marie has. Or maybe it's been creeping up for him for a while. There had been those moments, when Skyler was still pregnant, that he'd thought Marie would be cute with a baby bump. And hot as hell with baby boobs. And just plain hell to live with, with baby hormones.

"Nevermind," she whispers, letting go of his hand. "It was a stupid idea."

She turns to shut off the shower, but Hank catches the belt of her robe and pulls her back to him as he gets up. "Where you going, babe? And why'd you put this back on?"

Marie wheels on him. "If you think I'm still in the mood--"

"You better be," he says with a grin. "How else are we gonna make our little Schradertot?"


End file.
